The drama of laundry

The drama of laundry

I am line-drying for the first time this season.

No wait, that’s not true, I put Isaac’s sheets out on the line one sunny, windy, barely-above freezing day in February, because his tween-age boy funk was just so strong I felt it needed all of mother’s nature’s angry winter wind to beat it out.  It was a bright, blue-skied, day and my hands are still cold from shaking out and putting the wet sheets on that line.  They didn’t dry all the way, but mostly, and they did smell amazing, and yes, we do think they froze a little out there and we had to toss them in the dryer a bit to put back on his bed.

But today, I am line-drying for real.  A whole load, and just because I’d rather use the line than the dryer.  It is in the low 50s and partly cloudy and much more humid than that February Day and I don’t know.  I’m apprehensive.  The ground below is so muddy, it’s a swampy mud pit, and I’m grateful I load our line from the second story deck and didn’t have to walk in that gross lawn.  But what if something falls? I worry, even though I have never lost an item of clothing off that line.

And they say it’s not going to rain today, but it’s been such a wet, sloggy, muddy, damp, end of March that I can’t quite believe it.  The existence of clouds in that sky makes me nervous.

Still, I was out on that deck putting my clothes out at 6:45am this morning, listening to the birds and watching the sunrise play off of Rainbow Lake in the distance, and that was really good.  Even if my clothes don’t dry and fall in the mud, it felt really good to be cautiously optimistic about the weather.

Now to get in the habit of putting a load in the washer at night, again…

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